The Way works in the subtlest of… well… ways.

Today is our 9th day, and I see amongst the group several people starting to open up, starting to reassess their lives, starting to question their way of doing things.

I won’t go into specifics, because of issues of privacy – however I see the Camino really starting to work on them – get into their bones, into their souls.

Many will leave this Camino having undergone some fundamental changes.

Will these changes be permanent? Who knows. That’s the challenge, once you leave the Camino. And perhaps it’s one of the reasons why so many like to come back.

As Steve said the other day, the Camino is not the real world. I agree, it’s not – but maybe you need to step outside the real world for a while to see how unreal your real world is.

Only then can change happen.

Couples who’ve walked together the past week are now, quite amicably, wanting to walk alone. They need the “alone” space to think things through. The other respects that. And often the other wants that time alone too.

Allegiances have shifted. So too the dynamics between people. It’s subtle, and fascinating to observe.

What about me? Have I undergone any changes?

It seems my changes this time – or at least the lessons I’m learning – are coming to me through the refraction of others.

There have been a few occasions when one of the group has broken down and started crying – not because the walk has been tough. Not because their feet hurt. But because they’ve suddenly faced a realisation they’d been denying for so long. Or they’ve suddenly seen a way forward that hadn’t been apparent before. Or they’ve suddenly understood a universal truth that hadn’t been clear before.

Or they suddenly realise they’re surrounded by love. Their emotional overload has required a release. And so they cry. And they feel much better for it.

It’s only been a relatively short period of time – but it’s been an intense time – and some of our group have had, or are having, some deeply affecting experiences. Some have had experiences that cannot be easily explained.

Would all this have happened if we’d walked across Tasmania for 9 days? Or the South Island of New Zealand? I doubt it. This stuff is a product of the Camino – the ancient energetic lay line that seeps up through the ancient stones, that swoops down from the lichen covered stone crosses, and wheedles its way into your heart.

Today.

Today I felt great.

Yesterday I felt crap.

Last night I was woken periodically by insistent pain from my left heel. Sharp stiletto pain.

I got up, put Betadine on some of the reddened skin – it hurt like hell, but I went back to sleep thinking it would do some good. It didn’t. I took Ibuprofen, against my better judgement. But it worked. It put me back to sleep.

When I woke at 7am, all the pain was gone, and I felt like I could walk half way across Spain again.

Today’s walk was short – only 13kms – from Arcade through to the old pilgrimage town of Pontevedra.

Leaving Arcade was beautiful – fresh clean light as we crossed the old Roman Bridge leading out of town. I walked with Donna and Greg and Julie this morning. I hadn’t spent much time with them up until today.

Greg dropped off the pace – he wanted to walk by himself for a while – so Donna and Julie and I kept going, chatting all the time – marvelling at the beauty around us.

After about three and a half hours walking we stooped at a small cafe to have breakfast. I had my requisite Coke Zero and ice, times two – plus some yummy scrambled eggs. The Spanish do eggs amazingly well.

Tim and Cathy – our two friends from Virginia in the US – walked up and we chatted for a while.

We’ve been criss crossing paths for near on a week now. Cathy very kindly read my book, liked it, and on my handwringing insistence she wrote a very sweet review. Tim last year walked the Appalachian Trail – some 3000kms. This Camino must be easy peasey for him.

Julie, Donna and I got to Pontevedra before midday –

i did my laundry, did some work chores, waited for my beautiful wife to arrive then we wandered around the old town.

Jennifer can’t walk past a church without walking into it. Pontevedra has a church dedicated to Camino pilgrims. The church seats have a res scallop shell etched into them.

We only have three more days walking before we get to Santiago. It’s all happened so fast. But a lot has happened, a lot has changed.

That’s the magic of the Camino.

I woke up this morning not wanting to walk.

Yesterday I felt like I could walk halfway across Spain. This morning I would have been quite happy taking the van.

But I can’t do that. Nor can I offload my backpack, which with water and iPad etc is coming in at about 10kgs.

I went down to breakfast and witnessed with mine own eyes something which had been rumoured about in hushed tones by the other pilgrims –

Caterina eats bananas with a knife and fork.

Caterina is embarrassed about this. Evidently on previous mornings she’s built a screen around her plate with napkins. This morning she tried to hide it from me, but I can be persistent.

I got the shots I needed to prove to the world that she does indeed eat bananas with a knife and fork.

I think she probably believes that anyone who eats a banana with their hands most probably has a prehensile tail as well. (As most Queenslanders do…)

Anyway, my spirits were momentarily lifted by this anomaly in Caterina – shortly after, I headed out with Steve.

Steve is a truly fascinating bloke.

Some of you might already have formed an opinion of Steve – but most probably that opinion is wrong.

Steve is 71, divorced just recently from his third wife, and has stated clearly that the only reason he’s come on this tour is to spend time with me.

Steve and I met through this blog. A friend of his last year had alerted him to the blog, and he joined as a follower on day 12 of my Camino. He then started his own blog – and I became a follower, because he and his previous wife began their Camino Frances a week after I finished mine.

While I walked he commented on my blog – while he walked I commented on his blog. And in the process, we became mates.

An unlikely mateship.

He’s Texan, a bodybuilder, almost churlish with his economy of words. His reading list is mainly books on Navy Seals – my reading list goes from Dickens to Salman Rushdie to Jo Nesbo.

He regards our differences these ways: Says Steve – I’m better looking, I’m smarter, I’m more affable, I’m definitely sexier, and I have pecs not boobies. Women love me, he says – and dogs too.

Arlene says our differences are: Bill, you’re taller, you have hair, you have an accent (Australian), you both have terrific smiles – and it’s a draw when it comes down to who’s the more sexier…

(I think Arlene is being very kind to me…)

Anyway, Steve and I walked 23kms today and we talked most of the time. Here are some of the things I learned about Steve today –

• By the age of 35 he was one of the largest independent crude oil traders in the world.
• He had a personal net worth of $35m
• He had a company that had an annual turnover of $4b. Yes, $4 billion dollars.
• He was half owner in another company that had an annual turnover of $8b. Yes, $8 billion dollars.
• His company was the largest supplier of jet fuel to British Airways.
• He had 150 people on his payroll, in Houston, Denver, New Orleans, Bermuda, and London.
• One day he went to lunch in New York. After lunch walking back to his hotel he passed a Rolls Royce dealership. On a whim he walked in – and walked out a short time later having bought two Rolls Royces – a new Cornishe Convertible for himself, and a 2nd hand Silver Shadow for his CFO.
• At age 32 he got his pilots license. Within a few years he had both a commercial and instructors pilots rating. Ultimately he was a multi-engine instrument instructor.
• He had three private jets – two of them were worth $8m. He had on staff three pilots, a mechanic, and a secretary that were devoted solely to his “air force.”
• His office rent was $100,000 a month. $1.2m per year.
• His watch (Corum) was worth $30,000 – it had four rows of diamonds surrounding a five dollar gold coin.
• One year he got a tax refund from the IRS for $12m.
• His house was worth $7m.
• He had a $2m house in Aspen.
• At one point the US Department of Energy alleged he owed them $108m in profits that they claimed were “ill gotten.”
• At one point his companies and himself personally were $55m “upside down” – that is, he owed $55m to various creditors.
• He could have, had he wished, squirrelled monies away in various offshore assets or banks and set himself up for life – but he regarded that as immoral.
• In the big crash of 1985-86, he pretty much lost everything. he had investments in real estate that went sour, and the price of crude oil went through the floor.

All this I learned today while walking with Steve.

He loves dogs, and dogs love him.

He helps people with their backpacks.

He walked over to kick away a screw that he saw on the road – he worried that it might puncture a tire.

You might think you know Steve, when he poses for photos – you might have formed an opinion about him, but you don’t really know him.

I certainly know more about him after our walk today…

He says that he’s happier now than he was back then, at the height of his wealth and power. He now lives within his needs, not his means.

And he now lives without expectation and judgement.

He has a pared down existential view of life – forged by his extraordinary backstory.

By the way, I wrote this blog with Steve’s full concurrence and approval. He vetted this post before I published it.

I decided to leave early this morning.

I walked out of the hotel shortly after 6am – the street already festooned with hanging lights in preparation for Semana Santa.

Cafe chairs were stacked high, gleaming gold in the light from the street lamps, which must have been made during the age of gas.

I was wearing a headlamp – here is my attempt at a selfie…

Even with the headlamp though, I still missed a few key yellow waymarkers. But soon I picked up the route, which led past ancient churches out into the countryside.

The sun doesn’t come up till about 7:45am, and so I walked about 6-7kms before colour started to tinge the sky. It was a glorious morning.

I mused at my luck with weather. This is my second Camino, and both times now I’ve lucked out with perfect weather. On the Camino Frances last year, I only had 2 rain days in 28 days of walking.

A week ago, the rain was pouring down. The day we started this pilgrimage, the skies cleared and we haven’t had so much as a drizzle since.

(Now that I’ve said this, stay tuned for tomorrow – it could well pour down!)

Steve, bless his socks, had been watching the weather charts for weeks and months before this trip. He would email me, with a thinly veiled sense of despair, telling me it was raining in Portugal.

Each of us in our own way tend at times to worry about things that are not worth worrying about. We get ourself into a state – then only later do we realise that it was for nought.

I needed to walk be myself this morning. I needed time to think – and it was a perfect time to reflect, in the dark – then later as the sun came up. The temperature was cool, but ideal for walking – and it reminded me of those mornings I set off last year before sunrise. Some of my strongest memories of the Camino Frances last year were sunrises over spectacular countryside.

I thought about our lunch yesterday.

I wondered whether on Palm Sunday we should have had such a boisterous lunch – but none of us are devout, except for perhaps Marie – and Jennifer in her own way. I found out during that lunch that one of the reasons Jennifer and Marie have been late arriving each day is not because they walk backwards, but because they pick up litter.

Wonderful people.

I thought about Steve, and the lunch, and what constitutes strength. And what is strength.

My mind then began to wander into what it is to be a man. This is something that’s perplexed me for a long time. What is a man? What qualities does a man – should a man, have?

I wear girly scarves. I look at the world in a way that sometimes could be construed as “feminine,” in that I see beauty around me, and I’m not afraid to express that beauty through my films, or my photography, or my words.

I also express vulnerability. I express failings. I talk about my feelings. These are feminine traits. Men don’t do that. Men work hard to keep themselves impervious to vulnerability. They have to. It’s been bred into the gender, to keep the species alive. Men have to protect, they have to provide, they have to do things a man has to do.

Expressing feminine qualities sends out mixed messages to the world.

I have no answers to any of this – these were just my wandering thoughts this morning as the sun came up.

I needed to walk into a sunrise. I needed that infusion of clean bright energy. And I needed to walk alone. I needed to let my thoughts off the leash. I walked surprisingly fast. The air was clean, the track was soft, I quickly shifted into a rhythm that became hypnotic.

I was constantly reminded that this was an ancient pilgrimage route.

Stone crosses covered with lichen. Stone bridges, worn down by myriads of feet and cart wheels and horses’ hooves. The centuries lay before me and around me – telling me that millions of pilgrims have trod the same path I was now treading.

It humbled me.

You can walk the last 7-8 kilometres into O Porrino two ways – one way is along a dead straight road through an industrial zone. Trucks hurtle past, factories spew out smoke.

The other way is an alternate route through shaded woody glens, following creeks and streams, avoiding the industrial zone altogether.

I chose the industrial zone.

I did this because I felt I could learn more about the town if I scratched its underbelly. I’d walked all morning through beautiful woods, beside tinkling streams. I wanted another experience.

I’m pleased I did.

Sometimes the un-scenic route reveals more…

We left the casa in Agualonga early – and for the first time on the tour I led the way.

My knee was feeling good – twinging a little now and then, but manageable – and my feet were not nearly as sore as yesterday.

I’d strapped my feet with bandages yesterday, and that I think had created problems – firstly, it made my boots much tighter, which constricted blood flow, and secondly, it restricted the flexibility of my feet and my ankles – and that’s what I believe caused the pain yesterday.

We walked through some very pretty countryside –  and by “we” I mean myself and Donna and Greg. I gave an impromptu photographic lesson or two on composition and light.

We had plenty of laughs along the way – one very hilarious moment being when Donna described Jen as being like a sunflower, and I chipped in that I was like a bee.

Take my word for it – it was funny at the time.

After nearly three hours walking we finally stopped at a bar/cafe/restaurant.

I spotted a little girl with her father. I took several shots of her – cute as a button with her blue glasses. I gave my email address to her father and told him to contact me and I’d email him the shots of his daughter.

I set off on my own, but Steve soon caught up with me.

Steve is amazing. He has an extraordinary affinity with animals. Every animal he sees – whether it’s a dog or a lamb or a horse or a donkey – he’ll stop and try to engage it in some way.

I asked him why he liked animals so much. He said: Animals are loyal, they don’t ask anything of you, they will always stand by you, they won’t let you down, they won’t betray you, they won’t lie to you.

I told him there were some people like that too.
He said he hadn’t met any.
I told him he’d met me.
He said: You’re the exception to the rule.

We were soon joined by the Landers Express. Peter & Julie. Ken and Angie (the Landers cabooses) were a bit behind.

Peter told me about his early interest in music – and about his love of the blues. We share that together. We both believe that Clapton is God.

The Camino is starting to seep into Peter. He surprised me today by telling me that he wasn’t using his Garmin anymore – his GPS watch. Prior to this he’d been very keen to know how far he’d gone, how much further he had to go, his pace etc.

I can understand this. I was the same way at the start too.

But he’d turned off his GPS, and he was allowing the Way to unfold in it’s own natural rhythm and pace. Julie, his wife, said this was quite a significant step for him – letting go, as he was…

Peter is a very successful accountant, and his job requires precision and exactitude. Yesterday when someone asked what time he’d got in, he’d said 2:35pm. Not 2:30pm. Not a quarter to three. But 2:35pm.

Peter told me he was working towards a time when he would even throw his watch away, and judge his timings by the sun.

The Camino works in subtle ways.

After a long hot walk, we finally made our way into Valenca, the last town on the Portuguese side of the border.

We had a lunch in a small restaurant. A beautiful vegetable soup, followed by more pork and grilled turkey than we could eat – then home made deserts.

At the end of the meal Steve put on a demonstration for us with his breasts – pulsating them from side to side.

When a bottle of liqueur came, I suggested that perhaps he could open the it with his boobies, given that they were so strong.

He delighted us all by doing so –

As the afternoon wore on, the bottles stacked up. We told jokes and we laughed and each of us had a truly wonderful lunch. Marie the Basque said she hadn’t laughed so much in months.

She’d gone to the doctor earlier in the morning for some serious foot work – and the lunch made her feel so much better.

At the end of the lunch Peter and Ken stacked the empties up in an effigy to me – complete with green scarf, Swannies cap and sunglasses…

We then made our way across the bridge, across the Mino River, and entered Spain. We climbed up to Tui Cathedral, and the hotel where we’re now staying.

Today was memorable. We had the best time.

Why shouldn’t a Camino be full of happiness. Does it have to be dour and serious? I don’t believe so. There’s so much joy in this group – and now half way along our journey we’ve all bonded very tightly.

I can’t quite believe that this time next week, it will all be over.

I woke up early, looked out the window, this is what I saw –

Today would be the steepest gnarliest section of the Portuguese Camino.

For those of us who’ve walked the Camino Frances, it shouldn’t be a problem. I mean after all, it was only 450m, and we’d climbed much higher steeper mountains than that – like O Cebreiro, and the big mother of them all, the Pyrenees.

So this should be a breeze…

The Landers Express left the hotel in Ponte de Lima early, heading out over the old Roman bridge festooned with palm leaves for Palm Sunday, coming up. The Landers Express is the steam train that encompasses Peter and Julie Lander, and Ken and Angela Mitchell.

They click over in excess of 5km/hr, which is swift – particularly given that Ken and Angie have never walked a Camino before. If you stand by the track as they choof past you, your hair will be ruffled and your cheeks will turn pink…

Steve, Arlene and I decided to walk together this morning. Arlene did some exercises while Steve struck a pose.

The track went through some very beautiful countryside – the most beautiful so far – made more so by the wonderful sunny weather.

After about three and a half hours walking we decided to stop for our first break – at a small bar/restaurant in the township of Revolta, at the foothills of the mountains.

Revolta is how I felt abut the steep climb coming up.

Soon Jennifer and Marie the Basque had joined us. And very soon, the conversation had turned existential.

Marie the Basque kicked it off by saying boldly, and for no other reason than she felt strongly about it, that you could not “cheat” on the Camino. You could not pretend to be someone you weren’t if you walked the Camino.

She said the Camino revealed your true nature – and some couples who were considering marriage walked the Camino to test their suitability to each other. She said they reasoned that if they could survive the Camino together, then they could survive marriage.

Steve proffered that the Camino was not the real world –

I agreed – and said the Camino was a hermetically sealed biosphere where you have no status, no attachments – there’s nothing to indicate if you had a fancy car or a high powered job or you were a millionaire or on welfare – nothing to indicate your place in the world other than the way you related to other pilgrims.

Everything was pared back to the essentials, I argued – and so human failings and strengths could reveal themselves without the smoke screens of power or wealth – or the lack thereof.

Steve’s point was that you can only really test a marriage through the furnace of domestic routine – that walking the Camino was not a relevant test of a marriage partner.

I argued though that the Camino ultimately will reveal your true nature, your true character – getting back to Marie’s point that you can’t “cheat” the Camino – that it will show whether you’re empathetic, tolerant, patient, dutiful – whether you can hang in there and stick it out through the hard times, whether you buckle at the first obstacle.

Steve hurrumphed and grabbed his poles and set off up the hill. I called out to him, pointing out that he’d left his backpack behind. He stopped, realised his mistake, then yelled back that he expected Arlene to carry it for him.

Steve has a wicked sense of humour. Fortunately, so does Arlene.

We climbed – and it was a tough series of steep and rocky sections which challenged us all – expect for Steve, the older in the group, who skipped up the mountain like a teenager.

Steve takes testosterone weekly. He’s been doing this for twenty odd years – via injection. He believes this is what keeps his youthfulness, and he advocates it for every man over the age of 50.

Arlene argues that it’s not natural – that a man shouldn’t go injecting himself with something to keep himself virile. It’s against the laws of nature.

Steve laughs, and says: Hey, if I’ve got the capacity to keep myself young and lean and strong just by taking testosterone, why not do it? Why not make my life better?

Arlene says she can’t win a point against Steve – he has such an elemental view of life – he says: This is who I am. You can take it or leave it. I am not going to change. If you don’t like who I am, then it’s your problem not mine…

Steve takes a lot of photos of flowers. I tell him that’s girly. He says that’s why women find him attractive – because of the balance between the muscles and the flowers. He says women feel safe around him.

Arlene laughs, and keeps walking.

I found the climb tough today. I was getting very hurtful pain in my instep of my right foot. Steve explained that because I was wearing a brace for my right knee, it was throwing the biodynamics of my right leg completely out of whack.

On the uneven rocky surfaces, my knee was remaining rigid, and that was affecting the flexibility of my muscles around my ankle and foot.

It kind of made sense.

I did the climb slowly, and I did the climb down again even more slowly. Steve, being the gentleman that he is, hung back and guided me.

We finally made it to the Casa Rurale by about 5:30pm. The Landers Express had pulled into the station about three hours ahead of us. They were sitting out in the sun on a terrace outside the renovated farmhouse, drinking wine and beer and laughing at us for arriving so late.

Forty five minutes later, Jennifer and Marie came in. They were slow because Marie had convinced Jennifer that it was good for the muscles to go up the hills backwards.

Tomorrow we walk into Spain. And it’s Palm Sunday. Semana Santa – the Spanish celebrations for Easter, will begin to kick in. It should be a fascinating week…

It’s interesting for me to begin to reflect now on what’s different to the last Camino –

This time last year I walked the Camino Frances – 800+kms – and I did it alone.

Now I’m walking the Camino Portuguese – 240+kms – and I’m doing it with a group.

Not only am I doing it with a group, but I’m leading the group. People have paid to come on this tour, and I have certain responsibilities.

Last Camino I had knee pain from Day 1. And it only got worse from there. I did the whole pilgrimage on maximum dosages of pain killers.

This time I’m wearing an elaborate prosthetic knee brace and so far I’ve had no pain at all.

These are the simple superficial differences.

There are deeper differences.

I set off on the first day with a Garmin GPS watch and a chest strap monitor to record distances traveled, speed, heart rate, calories expended, etc…

Part way through that first day I realised that the GPS wasn’t working properly. It needed resetting. So did I.

At the end of the day I took off the watch, I took off the chest strap, I put them in a Ziplock bag, and I haven’t taken them out since. I felt strongly that I didn’t need to know that stuff.

I thought it would be important to me, but I quickly realised that I was trying to quantify something that couldn’t be quantified.

This was the first indication to me that I was wanting to let go.

That I was needing to let go.

On the second day I disappeared.

Yes, I got lost leaving Vila do Conde – horribly lost – and then It took me over four hours to walk 12 kms to Arcos. I was walking alone and suddenly I was no longer a tour leader, I was a pilgrim again.

It was glorious.

The others must have started to get worried about me – wondering where I was. My phone rang and rang, and I couldn’t bring myself to answer it. I needed to be alone.

And then I had a very strong desire to just walk straight past Villa d’Arcos – where Caterina’s mother had prepared a magnificent morning tea for us. I really didn’t want to spend time with anyone.

I was in another place.

But it would have been insulting to Caterina’s mum. And so I dropped in, but I found I was detached. I couldn’t really engage.

After spending a courteous amount of time there, I left and a few kilometres later, I went into the old Roman church in the next town.

I’d been pulled into the church, for some reason. I’d been in it before – I’d already seen it and photographed it – and because I’d started the day getting lost, I had to make up time.

But still I couldn’t walk past that church without stepping inside.

And then I had that transcendent experience where I put on my sunglasses, about to get up and leave, and my body-heat fogged up the glasses – and I was taken to another dimension. I can’t describe it with any greater lucidity than that.

It was ethereal.

This Camino is different. There aren’t nearly so many pilgrims as on the Camino Frances. And all the Portuguese people you meet are incredibly friendly and helpful – not that the Spanish aren’t on the CF – but the Portuguese have a lightness of spirit that is endearing.

They’re quick to laugh – and they will go out of their way to help you.

One of the other things I’m observing is that I am not referring to maps or to the guide book. I’m leaving in the morning and I’m walking outside my hotel and I’m allowing the Way to lead me. I’m allowing the day to unfold as it’s meant to – for me.

Yes I’ve got lost, and yes I’ve had to refer to the map to get me un-lost, but I never read up on what’s ahead the next day. I never know what’s coming up. And so I have no anxiety, I have no fear, and I’m finding the path is full of wonderful surprises.

Also, I never check on the weather. If it’s going to rain, there’s very little I can do to stop it. All I can do is alter my clothing. That’s ok. I’ve got wet weather gear. It’s simple – if it rains, I put on a rain jacket. And I make sure my backpack is covered.

I refuse to fret over what I can’t control.

I can’t control the weather. I can control my reaction to the weather, and so I leave it at that.

I’m not good walking with groups. This is because I can never keep up. I always want to stop and take photos. But yesterday for a period there, I walked with some of the others and we had a blast.

Yes we got a bit tipsy, but in quiet conversations with some of them as we walked, I learnt more about them as people – why they were doing this tour, this pilgrimage – and I began to get a deeper sense of who they were and what mattered to them.

They asked me questions too – and it required me to think about things on a more profound level. And to articulate those thoughts in an honest way.

A good teacher learns from his or her students, I’m learning from the folks on this tour.

There’s more to come – more to learn…

Today was always going to be a big day – 34kms. That’s a long way.

Some of us wanted to do the full distance, some opted for a shorter walking day –

Steve & Arlene & Angela – 14kms
Jennifer & Marie & Donna – 20kms
Peter & Julie, Ken & Greg, and myself – 34kms.

For those of us wanting to walk the full stage, it meant we had to return to Barcelos and pick up the Camino from where we left off.

We checked out of the hotel at Bom Jesus early – and by 7:30am we were back at Barcelos and on our way.

Peter and Julie are experienced walkers, and they set a cracking pace. Ken, walking his first Camino, had no problem keeping up. Greg and I hung back a bit but even so after an hour we’d walked 5.6kms, according to Peter’s Garmin GPS.

We stopped for coffee – meanwhile the others were back at the hotel having breakfast, and getting ready to head out – to pick up the Camino further up the track, closer to our final destination of Ponte de Lima.

I had a quick espresso at the roadside cafe and set off on my own – I got some fine shots of the quartet coming towards me –

And a trio going away…

Ken hung back to chat with me –

Around 11:30am and after having already walked about 20kms, we stopped again for a refresher – this time at a little bar. As we walked in Peter noticed a glass of white port on the counter – frosty cold.

Agreeing that a little cold white port might give us the zip we required to complete the walk, Peter dutifully ordered a round.

We stepped outside, chatted, and soon realised the port had gone.

I put it down to evaporation in the hot sun.

We all agreed that nature was grossly unfair, so we walked back into the bar and ordered another round – this time Ken shouted.

We chatted some more. And we laughed a lot.

We all agreed that you get fewer blisters when you walk in a relaxed manner, and we all agreed that the port was making us relaxed. So for the sake of our feet, we ordered another round. I think I paid. But from this point on, things got a little hazy.

I remember we agreed that it was grossly unfair that three people had shouted a round, and the other two hadn’t. We all agreed that this inequity should be redressed, so Greg ponied up the next round.

I do recall speaking to the bar lass – her name was Caterina, I remember that much. I remember that because of our Caterina. They both had the same name. I remember.

And I remember instructing her to fill my glass up right to the brim, because she’d left a tiny tiny sliver of the glass empty. I good naturally admonished her – then took her photograph to make her feel better about herself.

I don’t remember much more after that.

I do though remember Julie did the honourable thing and shouted the last round. By this stage we’d drunk nearly three bottles of white port between five of us. The issue of blisters was no longer relevant. We felt no pain.

We had another 14kms to walk.

It’s really hard walking when you’re legless.

I noticed that the standard of my photography had deteriorated somewhat.

I was having trouble with headroom…

We set off, and Julie killed a snake. At least that’s what she told me, and I was prepared to believe anything she told me. I was prepared to believe anything anyone told me.

At some further indeterminate place, at an indeterminate time, we stopped for another drink. I know this because I took some photos.

I don’t know who these people were. At the time, they seemed friendly enough – in retrospect though, they look like serial killers.

We were lucky to get out of there alive…

I don’t have much else to report on today. Other than the last few kilometres into Ponte de Lima were beautiful.

I met two young blokes walking in – Miguel and Pedro. Miguel is a pharmacist and Pedro is studying to become a psychologist. Smart young men. They’re walking their second Camino Portuguese –

I was the last one in, of course. Donna & Greg were laying in wait to ambush me with a photo of myself walking in through the avenue…

We’re staying at a magnificent boutique hotel – and we had a glorious meal made by the hotelier’s wife – all local specialities. We agreed it was the best meal of the tour so far.

Marta, who works for the hotel and organised our accommodation and meal, was a total gem, and she got a round of applause from everyone when she successfully took a group shot.

She was terrified she wouldn’t get the headroom right…

To complete the evening, Steve showed us a picture of himself on his 70th birthday. I told him I thought he should make this a feature of each meal in future…

Kind of like an after dinner mint…

Today was a rest day – and I think we all appreciated it.

Donna woke up with a burgeoning chest infection, and Caterina whisked her away to a doctor. By mid afternoon she was feeling much better.

The famous Barcelos markets were on – the hotel was situated right opposite – and so after breakfast we wandered over and explored.

Barcelos is famous for it’s chicken and poultry – the symbol of the district is the cock.

Whooosh –
That’s the sound of that one going through to the keeper….

The market sold all sorts of things –

Note to Barcelos Health Department – please ask this lady not to pick her nose while she’s holding a cock…

Caterina then began a shuttle in the Mercedes van, transporting the group over to Bom Jesus.

Just to explain – we’re leaving the Camino for one day to spend the afternoon/night at Bom Jesus, which is truly spectacular. It’s about 25km from Barcelos – a magnificent church on a mountain looking out over Braga. There are a couple of luxury hotels situated beside the church, and we’re staying in the best one.

There’s a beautiful terrace looking out over the view – which is where everyone convened for a late lunch and drinks.

While Caterina took Peter & Julie and Ken & Angie up to Bom Jesus, Jennifer and I had lunch with Steve and Arlene – a pilgrim’s lunch for €10 which was delicious – then we went for a wander into the old part of Barcelos, overlooking the river.

We had coffee overlooking the river – and Steve gave us a pose…

Marie the Basque, however, decided that she wanted to keep walking, and so she headed off this morning following the Camino. Her intention was to to walk a good way up the Camino towards Ponte de Lima – where we’re staying tomorrow tonight. She wanted to reduce her mileage tomorrow. Tomorrow’s walk is the longest of the trip – 34kms.

Marie later in the day phoned to say that she’d done about 17kms, and so we arranged for a cab to pick her up and bring her to our hotel.

I can’t believe that today is only day 3. It seems that we’ve experienced so much in such a short period of time. Everyone is getting on really well – and we’re spending a lot of time laughing.

Tomorrow is a big walk but some of the group will start part way up the Camino and cut their walk from 34kms to 20kms.

I want to do the full distance, and so do a few others.

There’s no macho stuff here, no competition – everyone respects everyone else’s personal approach to this Camino.

Whether they van it part of the way, or whether they walk the whole way, really it doesn’t matter. We’re all having a good time, enjoying each other’s company, eating wonderful food, staying in nice digs, and we’re all pilgrims.

Speaking of which, the hotel gave us a very romantic room with a double bed tonight…

Why do I make life so difficult?

 First, let me admit to a clerical typing error.

In the itinerary, I said today was going to be 18kms. An easy walk after yesterday’s 25-26kms.

Actually, I realised to my horror that today’s walk was going to be 30kms.

How did this happen? I can proffer numerous reasons – I’d prefer not to use the word “excuses” because that confers an element of liability – but needless to say when I announced this to the tour group last night, I was met with stunned silence.

Probably because I referred to it as a “data entry miscalculation.”

I’d timed my announcement after everyone had had at least two glasses of wine – hoping their slight inebriation would dull their senses – but they were onto me straight away, of course.

Angie asked cuttingly: Have you made any other “data entry misevaluations Bill?”

I told her evasively I’d get back to her on that one…

We decided to leave early the next morning, given that we had to walk such a long distance. I left at 7:30am, and went straight to the ATM machine to pull out some cash. This should have been my first warning.

Instead of using my cash-loaded Travel Card, I used my credit card by mistake. Which means I’m up fort a bucket load of bank fees. This should have alerted me to the fact that I hadn’t yet engaged my brain in meaningful and useful activity, like figuring out where to begin the day’s walk.

I checked the map of the route, which had me crossing the bridge, turning right, and following the river for several kilometres.

So that’s what I did – I crossed the bridge, I turned right, and I followed the river for several kilometres. I even had a bunch of yellow arrows to assure me that I was going the right way – even if some of them were on mobile garbage bins.

I was starting to feel good – even though I’d only had instant coffee from an urn in the hotel’s breakfast room before I left. In retrospect, I lay blame there…

I did though take some nice shots…

But then three things happened.

1. The yellow arrows disappeared.
2. The river disappeared. Or at least, it turned into a large puddle.
3. I saw a road sign to Porto.

I’d walked from Porto two days ago. I like the place a lot, but I didn’t want to walk back.

I was going the wrong way.

I looked again at the map. Yes, cross the bridge, turn right, and follow the river. That’s what I’d done.

But hold on a minute….

You were on the north side of the river, not the south side, you moron.

I turned the map upside down, and then it all made sense. Instead of crossing the bridge and turning right, I should have not crossed the bridge and turned left. 

The instant coffee from the urn had totally stuffed things up. I’d been walking for about 45 minutes, which means I’d walked about 3 kilometres. And now I had to walk 3 kilometres back again.

On a day when I had to walk 30 kms, to have to walk an extra 6 kms because I’d ingested bad coffee was not very uplifting. You’ll note here that I refuse to accept responsibility for my stupidity, I lay all the blame at the feet of Nescafe…

So I dutifully walked back, got to the bridge, crossed it, turned right, and headed off – now one and a half hours later, with a deficit of 6kms.

 After walking for a further 5kms or so, I found a coffee shop and went in and ordered a proper espresso coffee, along with a Coke Zero with ice.

There was a pretty girl sitting behind me. She was staring at me. Why would she stare at me, I wondered. She was young, and very pretty. Surely she was not trying to ht on me.

And then I noticed something akin to disapproval in her stare. Did she think drinking espresso and Coke Zero with ice was gross?

Actually, I realised that she wasn’t exactly staring at me, she was staring at my backpack, on which I’d affixed my Bonds Comfy Undies to get them dry. They were splayed out on the dirty floor…

i downed the drinks fast and headed back out again.

I saw a pilgrim up ahead. I caught up with her, and we chatted. Her name was Sandra, and she was from Germany.

She’d stayed at the fire station in Vila do Conde the previous night – because she was a pilgrim there was no charge, nor did they charge her for the meal they cooked, and the beer they provided.

I told her to drop in at Caterina’s mum’s house – Villa d’Arcos – about 7kms further up the Camino. We had arranged to have morning tea there, and she could join us.

She moved on ahead, and I stayed back and took some more shots.

Caterina’s mother, Belmira, put on a fabulous spread. She told me that most of the group had been and gone. Because I was running an hour and a half behind, there was no way I could catch up to them.

Little did I know that they would take a wrong turn not long after leaving Arcos, and they would – like me – get horribly lost.

I went into an old Roman church not far from Arcos, in part because I’d now walked about 21kms, and i was tired and sore. The church inside was very simple, but it had an energy, a power, that was palpable.

Sitting in a pew, I began to ask myself some questions:

• Why am I doing this tour?
• Was Jesus just a wise young man with a lot of charism?
• How come I say I’m not religious and yet I always come in and sit in churches and ask myself questions which can never be answered?

A strange thing happened. I put my sunglasses back on, about to leave, and the heat from my body fogged the lenses. Everything around me suddenly shifted into another dimension. It was ethereal.

Yes I was exhausted, yes I was merely looking at everything through fogged up sunnies, but it was more than that. I was somewhere else. Time stood still. I couldn’t see anything other than the cross against a sliver of light from a window behind. It was transcendent.

It freaked me out. I took off my sunnies and quickly left.

I’d left Arcos without a water bottle. I’d given mine to Jennifer, because she’d been vomiting and she needed hydration. But I was now three hours from Arcos, walking in the hot sun in the middle of the day, and I was getting thirsty.

No, I wasn’t getting thirsty, I was getting desperately thirsty.

I kept walking around bends in the track, hoping to see a store or a cafe – but there was nothing. I walked another hour – four hours now since I’d had a drink, and I was starting to feel very woozy.

There’d been no villages, no stores, not even any taps in someone’s front yard where i could sneak in and gulp down some water.

I was starting to get worried. I was walking through the heat of the day, and I was beginning to suffer from dehydration.

Then I saw, as if a mirage, a house in the woods. It was a modern house, and there were some men outside doing some painting.

I walked over, and asked if I could get some water.

They looked at me oddly, as if asking themselves: Why would this bloke who looks like a serious pilgrim not have any water?

One of the young painters gestured to me to follow him inside into the house. There he went to a refrigerator, and pulled out a cold bottle of water. I gulped it down, thankfully, then he gave me some more. And he refused payment.

I walked off with my newly acquired water bottle full to the brim.

Today’s walk was largely over cobblestones or on roads. Hard surfaces. I’d estimate 90% of today’s walk was on hard surfaces. My feet were getting very sore.

I got a call from Caterina – a few more of the group had got lost. They were going to use the van to go through to Barcelos, where we were due to spend the night.

I kept walking. I was taking some nice shots.

But when I saw a cafe I decided that after 7hrs walking without a break, other than that time in the church and the early coffee with the Comfy Undies moment, it was time to sit down for a while.

I ordered two Coke Zeros, with ice – and a large bottle of water. I was still dehydrated.

It turned out I’d stopped at a famous haunt – run by Antionio. There was a pilgrim sitting inside and we had a chat. Her name was Cathy and she was from America. Virginia.

As we talked I saw Jennifer walking past, and I yelled out to her.

She’d walked all the way from Arcos – some 15kms or so, and was feeling much better. We decided to walk together into Barcelos, which was still another 9kms away.

I then broached a subject which I’d been considering while walking alone –

Me: Sweetheart, I’ve decided that for the duration of this pilgrimage, I’m going to remain celibate. I think that’s what a pilgrim should do.

Jen: (dryly) Suits me.

Me: (hurt) That’s not exactly the kind of response I was wanting.

Jen: (indifferently) Exactly what kind of response were you wanting Bill?

Me: (pathetically) I was wanting something like – Gee Bill, do you really think that’s necessary? I mean, I think you should seriously rethink that one…

Jen: (says nothing, merely stares at me…)

Me; (quickly) Or words to that effect…

Jen: (again, dryly) This is why I like walking alone…

We walked into Barcelos – across the bridge and into the old part of town. I ended up walking 36kms – Jennifer 20kms. We were both tired and sore.

We went out to dinner at my favourite Barcelos chicken joint, and we all had a great feed.

Coming back into the room after dinner, I realised we’d been given twin beds.

Me: (grumbling) They should have given us a double…

Jen: (smiling) Pilgrim…

In the photo above, in last night’s post, I said Greg and Debbie got a little lost in a bar.

Actually it’s Greg and Donna.

I was very tired lat night, and didn’t end up publishing that post until just before midnight – so I apologise for the mistake. I’ve gone back and corrected it.

Also the comments you’re all making are fabulous, thank you – and we all read them avidly.

There will be times on this Camino when it might take me a few days to reply, but I will reply – it might just not be straight away, because the demands on my time are quite acute.

We’re all having a really great time. It’s a wonderful bunch of people. That’s what’s making this very special.

Also, for that bloke on the beach having sex – and thinking I’m a pervert – here’s a photo just for you mate…